Realm Breaker

by Aveyard, Victoria

  A rare anger flared in the Elder. “I care not for your ignorance of the ages. Can you help me or not?”

  This time she plunged her hand into the purse, grabbing at coins.

  The Elder scowled.

  It isn’t the gold he cares about, she thought, watching his face. Something else feeds his anger.

  “The father is dead,” he ground out. His voice was oddly strangled. Ah, she thought. He grieves for the fallen. “You’ll face no trouble from him.”

  “It’s not her father you should worry about,” she muttered. It’s the pirate.

  “A daughter,” the Elder breathed. As if he had accomplished something, weaseling such little information from her. He reached for the purse. “Very well, Assassin. That’s more than enough in payment.”

  “Like you know,” she scoffed. “I can find the girl for you. And I’ve settled on a price.”

  “Good,” he said with an eager, desperate grin.

  Mortal or immortal, it did not matter. Sorasa read him all the same. His smile had a child’s innocence, despite the centuries he had seen. Sorasa despaired of it.

  At least he would be useful.

  The smile disappeared when she named her price.

  But still he agreed.

  6

  IN THE BLOOD

  Corayne

  The tale of the Elder and the assassin crashed in an impossible wave.

  Corayne broke it into pieces while he spoke, as she did with her lists and calculations. To weigh what he said without being dazzled or intimidated by mention of enclaves and distant cities, ridiculous deeds and Spindle magic. Until it all made some sort of sense in her head. Her conclusions sharpened in her mind, each one more preposterous than the last.

  The father I’ve never known is dead. A portal is torn to another realm. The Ward is in grave danger. And for some reason, these two lunatics think I can do something about it.

  Half of her felt afraid. The rest laughed.

  She looked over the strange pair, her jaw locked tight. Domacridhan still knelt, his golden head bowed, while Sorasa paced back and forth, barring the road back to port. Corayne sorely wished Kastio had accompanied her home. Or, better yet, her mother. She would not tolerate this nonsense, not from anyone. Not even an Elder, ageless and unfathomable. Not even one of the Amhara assassins, near to legend in their skill.

  But Kastio is not here. Mother is not there. There’s only me.

  Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but Corayne kept her body still and her face blank.

  “We agreed to terms, Sorasa and I,” Domacridhan said, bringing an end to his story. He raised his head and stared at Corayne in desperation, enough to make her skin itch. “And she led me here, to Lemarta. To you, the only person who can help us, and save the world entire.”

  Corayne blinked at both of them in turn. The immortal and the assassin blinked back.

  “Good evening to you both. Safe journey,” she said neatly. Her fingers trembled as she turned on her heel, setting off toward the cottage.

  But the Elder was already moving, following Corayne up the overgrown pathway. He made no noise at all as he caught her on the front step.

  She glared up at him stubbornly, using anger to hide her unease. Better to show anger than fear or doubt.

  The ruined half of his face stood out sharply, illuminated by the moon cresting over the hills.

  The Elder felt the light and turned his head, hiding his scars. “Perhaps you did not understand—”

  Her voice hardened. “I’m mortal, not stupid.”

  “I did not say you were stupid,” he said quickly.

  Her hand found the latch of the cottage door, wrenching it open. “My answer, to whatever idiotic question you hope to ask, is no.”

  With two fingers and little effort, he pushed the door shut. Like his scars, his eyes caught the moon.

  “The Ward will fall if you do not save her.”

  The edge in his voice was not unfamiliar. Corayne heard it in Lemarta all the time. Failed merchants bargaining over their meager goods. A destitute drunk pleading for another ale at the tavern. A would-be sailor begging for room on a ship, to find his fortunes on another horizon. This was not want, but need. Hunger driven by fear.

  “The Ward falls,” she murmured, her hand still on the latch, “because of a man with a magic sword and the villain from a children’s story? ‘What Waits’?” Corayne shook her head, barking a laugh. “You should head back to Lemarta and find yourself a fool who believes in that kind of thing.”

  From the road, the assassin laughed. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe him either.”

  His teeth bared, Dom threw a scowl over his shoulder. “I do not expect mortals to believe what we Vedera know to be true, the ancient dangers of a history too long for you to perceive. The Torn King will consume this realm if given the chance. What Waits is waiting no longer.” He put a broad, white hand over his breast, clasping it to his heart. A fine silver ring winked on his finger. “I swear on Iona, my lady,”

  Corayne’s grip tightened on the latch, but she did not open it again. Something else tugged at her, a deeper pull keeping her rooted. “I’m not a lady,” she spat.

  To her dismay, Dom’s eyes filled with emerald sorrow. The Elder looked on her with pity, with regret. Corayne wanted to slap both from his face.

  “I do not know what your mother has told you, young one,” he began, hesitant. Her blood flared at the mention of her mother. “But you are. Your father was—”

  A haze of red crossed Corayne’s vision and the smooth metal of the door latch fell from her grasp. Instead her hand rose, finger pointed, until she found herself jabbing the Elder in the chest, tapping harshly against the stone firmness of his flesh. His eyes widened, bewildered as a new kitten.

  “I know exactly who my father was,” she snapped, all concern for herself or her temper lost. “He was Cortael, a son of Old Cor, one of the ancient line. His ancestors were Spindleborn, children of a lost realm. There was Spindleblood in his veins, Corblood—as there is in mine.”

  Spindleblood, Spindleborn. She had never said those words aloud, only heard them from her mother, only known them in her bones and heart and the distant longing that lived inside her. Saying them now, his name, his birthright, what he was and what that made her—it felt wrong. A betrayal of herself, and especially of her mother. The only parent she knew, the only parent with any say in who she would become. But it is in me, whether I want it or not. Her breath hitched and heat rose in her cheeks, a stark contrast to the cool air.

  “None of that makes me his daughter,” she seethed. “Let alone a lady.”

  Or a princess or a fairy queen or any other hero in a story for children and fools.

  “I did not realize you knew so much of him.” The sadness in Dom’s eyes was matched only by his growing frustration. Again, Corayne wished to tear both emotions away. She wanted neither from this stranger on her doorstep.

  I’ve known since I had the sense to know. At least Mother was good enough not to lie about him, she thought, and she meant it.

  “I have no use for illusions and false hopes. Your friend was both,” she said. And it was the truth, a bitter one she had lived with all her days. “Well, go on. Hand over the gold and be gone from my door.”

  Dom furrowed his brow. “Gold?” Again he looked to Sorasa, this time in confusion. “You mortals are always asking for coin.”

  The woman scoffed low in her throat. “We mortals live in the real world.” She did not move from her place on the path, keeping long yards between them. “Clearly the man sent money for his bastard,” Sorasa explained slowly.

  The Elder flushed and scowled in equal measure. “I have nothing of his to give you, my lady.”

  Corayne only shrugged.

  But the assassin gave her pause. She shivered as the woman narrowed her eyes, already dark with a lining of black powder. Sorasa glanced back at Lemarta, to the lights of town and the port. They gleamed gold on
the water, outlining the dark silhouettes of boats at anchor. The Tempestborn was one of them, a leviathan among the fishing ships.

  “No wonder Captain an-Amarat has the finest hunter on the Long Sea,” the assassin mused. “She had Cor gold keeping her afloat.”

  Fear curled around Corayne again. “You know my mother?”

  “I know her reputation,” she answered. “It is quite terrible.”

  “Then I can bring you to her. Both of you,” Corayne said quickly, an offer as much as a threat. “She knew your prince better than I ever did. She met him, at least. She can help you more than I.” Help you leave this place and never return.

  Dom shook his head. “It’s you we need.”

  “‘We’?” Sorasa muttered under her breath.

  The Elder ignored her. “It’s in your blood, Corayne, whether you know it or not,” he said.

  Perhaps his mind is as dense as his body, Corayne thought with annoyance. “I’m not interested in you, your quest, or my father’s failure. I want none of it,” she hissed.

  Finally he was silent, and there was no sound but the waves on the sea and the wind in the hills. Dom’s gaze went to his own feet. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but his luminous eyes seemed wet.

  Despite her frustration, Corayne softened. She could almost taste the misery rolling off him. “I am sorry for your loss,” she added gently. Reluctant, she touched his arm.

  He sagged beneath her fingers, coming undone. Do immortals know how to mourn? Corayne wondered. She looked at Dom again, a mountainous figure, his neck bowed in pained surrender. I don’t think they do.

  “I am sorry,” she said again, dragging her gaze to Sorasa.

  The woman waved a hand, her face blank as she watched the road. “I am not involved in these dramatics.”

  This time, Dom did not stop Corayne from unlatching the door. It yawned open, and darkness spilled from the cottage. He stood resolute and thoughtful, watching as she took a step forward.

  “You say you want nothing to do with us, with your father,” he said in a low, rough voice. “But don’t act like this is what you want either.”

  In spite of herself, Corayne froze on the threshold. She stared ahead, into the shadows of the familiar old cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dom raise his hood, his scarred face and emerald eyes retreating into shadow.

  “Your blood is born of the Spindles, of distant realms and lost stars. You want the horizon, Corayne of Old Cor. You want it in your bones,” he said, turning back down the path to join the assassin on the road. “And she’s never going to let you take it.”

  Corayne drew in a sharp breath, a dozen retorts rising to her lips. They died quickly, cut apart by a difficult truth.

  “Your father was the same.”

  No spine.

  The two words caught her like the smack of a wave, pulling her under.

  But Corayne refused to drown. And she refused to be caged a second longer, a bird meant to fly, not rot on a cliff with nothing but the wind for company.

  She looked back to them, only for a moment. Dom turned and met her gaze, his face filled with luminous, aching hope. Corayne felt it too, the hope she thought had died with her mother’s refusal. It bloomed anew, raw and sharp, bleeding at its edges, but stubbornly alive.

  “Give me three days,” she snapped, slamming the door.

  The third day came.

  At the kitchen table, Corayne busied herself with arrangements, her face a mask. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, testament to another night of poor sleep. Between her half-remembered dreams and hurried preparations for her mother’s voyage, she hardly slept at all.

  She stared at her wrinkled and scribbled-over map of the known Ward, using her ledger and compass to keep it anchored. The Long Sea bisected the realm across the middle, in a winding ribbon of blue water that stretched between the northern and southern continents. To the west, it emptied into the Nocturan Ocean, to the southeast, the Auroran. Night and dawn, framing the edges of the known world.

  Her inky fingers trailed along the Mountains of the Ward, the soldier line dividing the green fields of Galland from the northern lands and the steppe. Her eyes found a cluster of hills near the Green Lion, the river barely a scribble. It was otherwise unmarked, but she knew—she had been told—of a forgotten temple there. A temple and a Spindle, both torn apart. An impossible thing to believe. She pressed her finger to the spot, staring at the mark on the map where her father had died.

  Where, perhaps, the realm had begun to crumble.

  As if I really even believe that.

  Meliz woke noisily, clattering around her bedroom on still- rolling sea legs before banging into the central room of the cottage. She fluttered around the kitchen without much purpose, checking the cupboards, adjusting the curtains, poking at the copper pot in the hearth.

  Like a child begging for attention, Corayne thought.

  She refused to give her the satisfaction and double-checked her papers.

  “Kastio is late,” Meliz said abruptly, grabbing the pot from the fire. It sloshed with water and sliced lemons, still hot from the burning coals. She poured herself a cup before adding a dash of bright orange powdered root. A rare import from Rhashir, and worth its weight in gold.

  She must have truly outdone herself last night to need such a cure this morning.

  Corayne eyed the cup as her mother gulped it down. “He has a few minutes,” she replied, glancing out the window at the tiny shack built up against the cottage. It had been Kastio’s home for more than a decade.

  “You stay close to him while I’m gone.” Meliz drained the drink. “The roads are dangerous these days, even here,” she continued with a smack of her lips. “Jydi longboats disappearing, summer storms off Sapphire Bay.” She shook her head. “The realm feels twisted.”

  Even in our forgotten corner of the world. There had been word of strange doings all over, both good and bad for business. Coincidence—or chaos unfolding?

  “Everything is done,” Corayne forced out, folding her papers away. After three days of hard work and too much coin spent, the Tempestborn was watered, provisioned, and ready for the long voyage to Rhashir. She procured passage papers through the Strait and the Ibalet navy guarding it. She sent letters to the allies of Hell Mel throughout the Long Sea, and promised gold to those who might be an obstacle. All was finished.

  All but one more thing.

  “Take me with you,” Corayne blurted out, grasping at one last hope.

  Take me with you or lose me, she wanted to say. Lose me to whatever road I’ve put myself upon.

  Most of the time, Meliz an-Amarat had summer eyes, warm eyes. Mahogany flecked with amber and bronze. But now her eyes were cold and dark, still water beneath falling snow.

  And her voice was icy steel.

  “I will not.”

  The road into Lemarta unfurled. Dawn had barely begun, tinging the waters of the Long Sea pink and gold. Meliz walked slightly ahead, leaving Kastio and Corayne to lag along behind. The old man yawned away the last clingings of sleep, his knees creaking. Corayne donned her usual loose shirt and breeches with soft leather boots, worn by the years. It was warm outside, and she needed no cloak or coat, but one dangled from her shoulders anyway. The gloves were already in its deep pockets, tucked away, unused since winter.

  She forced down breakfast as they walked, angrily biting into a flatbread greasy with butter, garlic, and tomato jam. Her long black braid hung over one shoulder, thick as sailing rope. Her eyes were wide, focused. She wanted to remember this day.

  It will be my last in the only home I’ve ever known.

  Sunlight crept into the harbor, too quickly for Corayne’s liking. It was another clear day, with steady wind and currents. A good day to begin a voyage. The cloudless blue heaven broke Corayne’s heart.

  Captain an-Amarat walked the pier to the Tempestborn, her hands loose and empty, her back to the port, her face to the waves. Her long, battered coat hung off he
r bountiful frame, slashed at each side to show leggings and boots. Her clothes were crusted in salt, the veterans of a hundred journeys across the waters of the Ward. There was gray hair at her temples, only a few strands, gleaming like spun silver. She wore no hat and squinted into the sunrise. She looked as she always did before a voyage. Completely free, without weight. Without responsibility. With no allegiance to anyone but the sea.

  It was a hard thing to see in a parent. For Corayne, it was a familiar sight.

  She reached her mother’s side too soon. Part of her wanted to jump right off the dock and into the water. Instead she steadied herself.

  Meliz turned to look at her daughter sidelong. Her face was smooth, her skin golden, bronzed by the sun. “I’ll be back in a few months, just like you said. With enough coin and treasure to keep us for a hundred years.”

  “We have that now,” Corayne bit out.

  She knew the count of gold buried in the cottage garden, sitting in the vaults of a capital bank, and scattered elsewhere throughout the Long Sea. Coin from her mother’s plunder, coin from her father’s shame. Money was not what sent the Tempestborn to the water, not anymore.

  “There’s no end to what you want, to what you do. You enjoy the life you’ve chosen, and you won’t give it up for anyone. Not even for me.”

  It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact.

  Meliz clenched her jaw. “That doesn’t mean it’s a life I want for you.”

  “You don’t get to decide where I end up, or what I want,” Corayne said. All her lists, all her reasons evaporated, leaving behind a single truth. She heaved a breath. “You know I’m not the same as you.” You don’t have the spine. “And you’re right, but not the way you think. In my heart, in my blood—there’s something in me that can’t sit still.” Spindleblood, Corblood. Whether I want it or not. “You know what that is.”

  Her mother’s eyes flashed and she blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “Now you want to talk about your father?” she scoffed, throwing up her hands.

  Her mother was not the same. There was no Spindleblood in her veins. She could not understand. But she was a restless kind too. She knew what it was to ache for change and distance, to look forward and never behind.